


He's a wizard Sherlock

by tails9109



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tails9109/pseuds/tails9109
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about John that Sherlock never found out until John tried to save his life. Starts at the beginning of the Fall.</p><p>-------------------</p><p>“SHERLOCK!” John shouted. Sherlock fell, bracing for impact on the stunt airbag below. Right before he hit, he suddenly stopped. It was a weird feeling. Not like he landed. He didn’t feel anything, he just seemed to float there, inches above the airbag, all of his velocity gone like he had no inertia. Like gravity wasn't even pulling him to the ground. He could have sworn he was lying on the floor but he felt nothing beneath him. It lasted a brief moment and then he fell the rest of the way and the plan continued. John was about to clear the building  and the team worked quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first time writing any fanfiction that's based off of a British show so I'd really appreciate it if people could point out any phrases or words that are American instead of British. I'm slowly getting the hang of it but I'm gonna miss some.

“This phone call, it’s my note. That’s what people do don’t they. Leave a note,” Sherlock paused looking at John from on top of Bart’s, “Good by John.”

“No, don’t,” John said over the phone before Sherlock cast it aside. He leaned forward and fell.

“SHERLOCK!” John shouted. Sherlock fell, bracing for impact on the stunt airbag below. Right before he hit, he suddenly stopped. It was a weird feeling. Not like he landed. He didn’t feel anything, he just seemed to float there, inches above the airbag, all of his velocity gone like he had no inertia. Like gravity wasn't even pulling him to the ground. He could have sworn he was lying on the floor but he felt nothing beneath him. It lasted a brief moment and then he fell the rest of the way and the plan continued. John was about to clear the building  and the team worked quickly.

Sherlock’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what that was but he kept focused on the act, needing to fool John to seal this show and convince everyone, especially Moriaty’s men, that Sherlock Holmes was dead. John was there, feeling for his pulse. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt as he was pushed away. They started to wheel Sherlock away when-

“Wait, just one second,” John shoved his way through hard and fought off the fake paramedics trying to get Sherlock inside for the switch. John’s breath was on Sherlock’s ear.“I know you’re alive,” John whispered before pulling away. Sherlock was wheeled inside and the doors shut. They continued to work quickly, using the body Molly had found to replace him. They cleaned him up, slapped on a disguise and sent him off to Mycroft.

Now that he made it to the car, Sherlock could focus on what had happened. The floating would take much more time to figure out while what John said would be much quicker. Sherlock remembered the despair in John’s voice when he found the body, his behavior checked out for someone who just watched their best friend die but the comment to Sherlock was baffling.

“I know you’re alive.”

He said it with such confidence, so much conviction. Not an ounce of doubt in his voice. Could it be because he was hopeful? No, there was no desperation in the words. It was a matter of fact statement, as if John himself was involved in keeping Sherlock alive. But that wasn’t possible. Only the homeless network, Molly and Mycroft were involved. John couldn’t be sure of Sherlock’s survival.

Mycroft was talking about how the plan went well and where Sherlock was off to next but Sherlock was only half listening until Mycroft mentioned John.  
“-was very convincing. It was a good idea on letting his grief be natural. As soon as you were inside Bart’s he went straight up to the roof to look for clues, trying to avenge you. It was touching really. True to John’s character I must say.”

“He found Moriaty’s body then, and my smashed phone,” Sherlock commented off-handedly. Something didn’t seem right. John was the type to avenge, but he would’ve known better than to think he’d be able to catch that person on the roof. He wouldn’t have raced up there so fast.

“He must’ve taken it out on Moriaty’s body because he came out right before the police arrived with blood on the palm of his hands.”

“Just his hands?” Sherlock asked. That also didn’t add up. Even if John had slapped (very uncharacteristic of John) Moriaty’s bloody head, there would’ve been more blood on John and he wasn’t one to beat up the dead. John had much more respect for the dead than to desecrate a body, even Moriaty’s.

And then there was the floating. John’s odd comment, odd behavior and the unexplainable floating, they all occurred at too close of intervals to be unconnected. But how did Sherlock float and how is it related to John?

Anthea abruptly opened the door and walked in with a small brown package that was ringing, “Sir, sorry to disturb you but there’s a package here and it keeps ringing. It’s addressed to Sherlock.” Sherlock and Mycroft share a look before Mycroft takes the package and opens it carefully. He pulls out a ringing copy of Sherlock’s old phone.  
“Blocked number, start a trace Anthea,” Mycroft ordered, about to answer.

“We already scanned the package. It doesn’t have a signal of any kind sir. It looks like a cell phone that should be off.”

Mycroft paused before answering, “Who is this?” There was a pause. “Sherlock Holmes was just reported dead ten minutes ago in St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. This is-“ Another pause.

“Well if you know who I am, then you know that this is a very inappropriate time to be harassing me after the loss of my brother,” Mycroft said, faking emotion. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft suddenly sat up straighter in his chair and looked around. He set the phone down and put it on speaker while looking at Sherlock.

“How do you know where I am and what I am wearing?” Mycroft asked.

“Same way I know you put me on speaker phone and that Sherlock is wearing a dyed red wig, spray tan and a fluffy red jumper,” the voice was distorted and it sounded irritated, “Please stop playing games and give Sherlock back his phone.”

“His phone? Why should I give him his phone?” Mycroft asked out of reflex before realizing he gave away that Sherlock was still alive.

“Yes, it was smashed and I fixed it for him with some improvements. Now if you please.” Sherlock snatched up the phone before Mycroft could protest, turning off the speaker and pressing it to his ear.

“Who is this?” Sherlock asked, “You know awful a lot about a dead man and seem to defy all rationality.”

“Do not react. Do not change your behavior in anyway. Talk to me like you are talking to an associate that you knew the whole time was in on it,” John’s voice commanded over the phone. Sherlock resisted the urge to look surprised. “Very good. You have a lot of questions and I’ll be glad to answer them once you’ve answered mine. Are you planning on coming back?” There was a long pause, “You can answer Sherlock.”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, mind still racing, trying to find a way to connect John with all of this.

“Okay, obviously you are laying low until your name is cleared and you have wiped out Moriaty’s network,” John rambled off, surprising Sherlock, “I’ve gotten a bit good at following your methods. Now, why did you try to trick me?”

“My death had to be convincing and believable. John had to have realistic grief otherwise the snipers-“

“Yeah, the snipers would’ve killed the ones you love. I got that bit from Moriarty’s dead body. I wish you would’ve told me that way we could’ve avoided this whole mess of me trying to catch you.”

“It **was** you.”

“Yes, still my turn to ask questions Sherlock. Do you want help tracking them down?”

“No,” Sherlock answered quickly before realizing John might catch that it was less of a prideful no and more of a ‘I want you safe’ no.

“Sherlock, you’ll need my help. I can keep you safe, help you find your targets-“

“If anyone thinks I am alive, they will kill-“

“Why would I make them think you’re alive? I can help while still being grief stricken. I’m quite a good actor. Fooled you. You’re eyebrows struggled so hard to not shoot right up when I whispered to you. I could see the strain on your face.”

“John, even this phone is liability. They can find it and track-“

“Dammit Sherlock, now Mycroft heard you and I’ll have to erase his memory again,” John sounded upset, “And I can’t do the remotely which means I’ll have to come and see the git.” Sherlock looked at Mycroft who was deep in thought, obviously trying to figure out how John was capable of all these mysterious occurrences.

“What do you mean again?”

“You’re brother is quite noisy. He’s come across my ways a handful of times and I can’t have the British government kidnapping me for studies.”

"Is that why you went to the roof and held Moriaty's head in your hands? To read his mind?"

"Well, yes. It's very similiar, erasing thoughts and reading through them, depending on the person. Couldn't get too much with the bullet through the brain but I got enough. My talent doesn't always work flawlessly and it doesn't work on everyone. I was lucky your brother and Moriarty hadn't set up a mind palace since it is too difficult to root out memories when they are so closely knit."

“What is your talent John?”

“You know, I told you I had questions and you could have your turn after mine but since you’re such a prat, I’ll lay it all out for you. You know how you said it was just a magic trick? Well funny story, it was. I caught you with a spell, that’s how I knew you were alive. I lost control of it when a biker ran into me but I’m guessing you already had a plan of survival because I still found you dead. The lack of a pulse was a good one but I used a spell to check your vitals and you were fine so I knew you wanted me to believe it so that’s when I played along with your game.”

“That’s not possible,” Sherlock was trying to wrap his head around it. It was ridiculous that John thought he would believe in magic, “It must’ve been a wind, or invisible barrier, or-“

“Nothing can exist that completely robs something of energy Sherlock. You know physics and you felt yourself completely and utterly stop. No counter force, nothing.”

“But-“

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable , must be the truth. You said it yourself.”

“But it’s impossible!” Sherlock sat down to keep himself from pacing. "It's not even improbable. It cannot exist."

“How so? No proof for or against magic. Well, besides me. I’m proof. What else would explain your floating, your phone being fixed, me knowing you’re alive, me talking to you on a phone that has no cell phone signal and in fact, no battery.” Sherlock looked at the back of the phone, remembering that it seemed lighter than before. “I knew you’d need proof and I figured and phone working with no power would do. I have magic Sherlock and I’m going to help you, whether you like it or not, because you’re not leaving me behind.”

Sherlock sat quietly for a moment before asking, “What else could you delete from his memory for me?” There was a groan on the other side of the phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos for the first chapter and the encouragement for more chapters. I hope I continue to please.

Sherlock was running through the woods, bobbing and weaving through the dark trees while the shouts of men followed him. He stopped briefly when he noticed lights ahead, the team after him trying to close him off. Sherlock bolted in a different direction, whipping out his cell phone and hitting the talk button. Sherlock waited for a response, the phone not even registering that it was ringing. The phone beeped a text message.

_A bit busy Sherlock. What do you need?_

_Invisibility. SH_

There were the barks of dogs joining in with the men.

_And scent removal. SH_

_You don’t need to finish your texts with SH you know, you’re the only one that can contact me via magic line._

The shouts were getting closer and Sherlock huffed impatiently.

_Now please!_

_Yeah, sure. One second, I need to pop to the loo to do it._

Sherlock ducked behind a tree and made a beeline straight up the trunk. He waited, heart pounding as the pursuers got closer. _Come on John, any moment now would be great._ The phone in his hand turned on briefly and Sherlock felt a shiver as he vanish from sight. He put the phone to his ear.

“That should last about two hours. Stay out of trouble till then and I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” John explained over the phone.

“You’re on a date,” Sherlock stated.

“Brilliant deduction Sherlock,” John’s sarcasm was thick, “It’s a Friday night and I had to go to the loo to talk to you.”

“And you’re expecting to get laid.”

“Aren’t you suppose to be quiet when you’re hiding?” The phone clicked off and Sherlock wrapped himself in his coat as his pursuers searched for him, shinning their torches right through him.

\--------

“How was the intercourse?” Sherlock asked the next morning. He had waited in the tree for an hour before using the rest of his invisibility to reach a nearby village and purchase a room for himself in a rundown motel. John had called around eleven his time, meaning the Doctor had slept in.

“She tried to kill me but she was surprised when her poison lipstick worked on her instead of me,” John answered.

“Oh, I thought it was a real date, not one of Moriarty’s,” Sherlock ran his hands through his fake blond hair. It had been six months dismantling the network and the disguise was still necessary.

“I said I was going to take care of the London operatives. Did you doubt me?” Sherlock heard John clinking around making tea, “I’m moving out of the flat tomorrow.”

“What?” Sherlock asked, surprised by a sudden wave of emotion that hit him.

“That’s not like you at all,” John remarked, “It only makes sense. You’ve been dead six months. Grieving wise and money wise, I would seek to run away from your memory while still clinging onto it hard. I’ll move across town with some of your things as memories and then in several months, I’ll throw them away in anger only to spend two more months trying to track them back down and Greg will find me crying in my apartment over them when Mycroft calls him.”

“You really have this thought out don’t you,” Sherlock commented, blown away by how much John would grieve his death, “I kind of expected you to just lie around waiting for me to come back instead of textbook stages of grief.”

“Unlike you Sherlock, I have feelings,” John commented, “Your death would be very difficult to get over. Mycroft is still being annoying. He checks up on me but he tends to linger longer than I expect you asked him too. I don’t think my mind wipe was effective this time.” There was a pause over the line.

“How much longer are you going to be gone Sherlock? If this carries on for too long, I’m going to have to start carrying out a normal life.” Sherlock could see John standing there with a tired look in his eyes.

“This web runs deep John. You’ve always been free to have your own life John,” Sherlock answered. It was so much easier to communicate with John when he could read the Doctor’s face but John was very good and controlling his voice and Sherlock couldn’t always figure out what was going on in that head. There was something more here, but Sherlock couldn’t place it.

“Alright. You have your next target?” John’s voice lost that edge it had early. Back to business.

“Yes, it should go smoothly. You?”

“Consider it done,” John answered before  turning off the phone.

\-------

John went out for a pint, like he normally did at night, giving off the sense that he was trying to drink away the pain of losing Sherlock. As soon as he made it to the bar, he vanished. It was a busy bar and the bartender would remember John ordering and there would be others that would claim he was there to give John his cover.

He made it to his destination. A small flat in a random, unimportant neighborhood. Perfect place for one of Moriarty’s favorite operatives to hide. John slipped into the apartment for a quick killing.

\------------

That had gone so wrong. John panted in an alleyway several streets down as the whole flat went up in flames. He was covered in ash, bruised and thankfully hidden from the world as emergency response arrived.

John had no apprehension killing Moriarty’s men, they had already taken so many lives and they believed themselves beyond the law. John just wanted to show them how wrong they were. The people John was killing were Moriarty’s soldiers and John knew they were guilty. No, the problem came when John had entered the flat and the bloody bastard was waiting for him.

John almost took a shotgun blast to the face if it weren’t for his quick spell work and reflexes. Bullets ricocheted, John’s gun was knocked out of his hands, fireballs were thrown, gas lines were hit and John flew out the window, barely shielding himself from the fire, and landing in the street hard. The man was dead, so it was no concern to John that he had seen the spellcraft but Moriarty’s men know they’re being targeted.

John’s phone rang and he knew that Sherlock had found the same thing.

\-----------

“I’m not entirely sure how magic works John but since I can hear you despite being upside down and nowhere near my phone, I believe it is quite flexible in application,” Sherlock asked into the empty room, his captor leaving him after he had be trussed up like a chicken.

“What’s holding you upside down?” John asked, panting. Interesting. John must’ve been on his own mission tonight or just finished having sex. Doubtful he would’ve answered for the latter but maybe the phone rings differently based on urgency.

“Rope. I could cut it but I’d be unable to catch myself,” Sherlock answered. Fire engine alarms came through John’s end of the phone. Definitely not having sex then. Sherlock was surprised that knowing John was engaged in sexual activity pleased him. Not the time for those thoughts.

“I’ll cast a floatation spell first then dissolve the rope. Careful though, the spell may also unravel your clothes since I don’t have line of sight to control it,” John explained over the phone. Sherlock felt the same feeling, that gravity didn’t exist but it did at the same time, no longer feeling the pull of the rope on his skin. Then the rope and his clothes began to unravel themselves. It was intriguing to watch as the fibers just spun themselves out of their weave in front of him. Now, completely naked, Sherlock spun himself right side up.

“Okay, I can land John,” Sherlock fell to the ground lightly, “Now I need to figure out how to survive their bullets and take out about five men.”

“Here, I’ll send you a pretty strong protection spell and this,” Sherlock felt a shiver over his body and his hand tingled like he just did drugs through his fingers, “It’s about ten fireballs, all I can manage at the moment. Just pretend you are throwing a baseball and the fire with appear. Careful, because they explode like a molotov on contact.”

“Right, intriguing. How-“ Sherlock began to ask.

“We have an agreement. No asking how these spells work, just accept the help,” John sounded very weary now, like he had just finished a marathon. “Now, as you figured out, I believe Moriarty’s men are onto what’s going on.”

“Yes, quite so. We’ve lost the element of surprise. But they do not know who is coming after them. It only extends the length of the mission.”

“I  know, just get back alive as soon as you can.” Sherlock couldn’t place that as sadness or fatigue in John’s voice.

“I’ll try John.”

“Good, I don’t want this to take years.”


End file.
